


an open-door policy (day one)

by Raven (singlecrow)



Category: West Wing
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-23
Updated: 2010-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:19:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlecrow/pseuds/Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giving your ex-wife a key to your apartment is a really bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an open-door policy (day one)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [urban_stoop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/urban_stoop/gifts).



And there they were at last, with the setting sun behind them; how appropriate, Andi thought, and Toby didn't think anything at all. The papers were signed, the lawyers dispensed with; Andi had taken one last look at the apartment, the dying plants and the dusty surfaces, and now they were walking together, slowly, down a quiet Georgetown street, and saying nothing, and thinking even less.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and regretted saying it instantly, and then regretted the regretting of it; she wasn't married any more, it didn't matter what Toby thought.

Toby said, "That doesn't even make sense as a question. Am I okay, sure, I'm just great for someone who just this minute got, you know, divorced."

"Shut up, Toby," she said, tiredly. "I was asking."

"Don't."

At the intersection she hailed a cab, and it skidded to a halt by the kerb with excessive squealing of tires. "Here," she said, rummaging in her purse, tossing him the keys. "I don't need those any more."

He tossed them back. "Keep 'em."

"Toby..."

"Keep 'em." He stood back, an odd silhouette against the warmth of the light. "I could get hit by a bus or something. It's not like…"

It's not like you have anyone else, she thought, as the cab drew away.

 

*

Toby came in through the door, threw his coat on the back of a chair, flicked on the lights and was rummaging in a kitchen drawer for something before he realised he wasn't alone.

"Hi," Andi said. "I brought you a pizza."

He took his hand out of the drawer with the takeout menu still clutched between his fingers and said, "Andi…"

She was sitting on the couch, prim, legs crossed, suit immaculate. "Hi!"

"How did you get in?" he asked, for the principle of the thing. "Why…"

She jangled the keys. "I was in the neighbourhood."

"Andi, you weren't in the neighbourhood. You weren't in the neighbourhood, and I know that and you know that and could you just be straight with me, you know. For once."

The small burst of anger surprised him; from the look on her face it hadn't surprised her. "So, there's this guy," she said clearly. "He lives alone. And sometimes he gets sad. I know that, I was married to him. So I thought I'd come see how he was. Like friends do."

"You could have, you know. Called."

"You're never here to call," she said, with perfect truth.

He sat down. "So, you've seen how I am."

She raised her eyebrows. "Cranky and probably malnourished? I can take away the pizza."

"Leave the pizza."

She stood up and straightened out her skirt, and went to the door with her heels tapping tap-tap-tap on the hard floor, and he remembered that sound, resonating deep in him like he'd heard it every day for years, and it was easy to forget the surface of these things.

"Goodbye, Toby. Do you want your keys back?"

"No," he said, and she'd gone.

It was a good pizza. His favourite.

 

*

"I heard the news," she said.

"What news," he said, dully; somehow he couldn't muster up the energy to be surprised she was in his apartment at some unearthly hour in the morning. He'd flown in from New Hampshire, briefly; he was picking up clothes, checking everything was in order, hitting the campaign trail again in South Carolina.

"Well," she amended. "I've started hearing news. Rumours. Rumours about Bartlett. Some kind of dark horse, right? Did you pick a winner, Toby?"

"Don't I always?" he said, and looked her in the eye; she merely smiled at him, and said, "If you're looking for your socks, they're in a pile at the end of your bed."

He scowled. "Don't you have an election campaign of your own to run, Congresswoman Wyatt?"

"Have it your way." She got up, left her keys on the couch. "Glad you're keeping busy."

"You forgot these," he said, before she went; she caught them almost without looking, blew him a kiss, was gone.

He smiled when he found the socks.

 

*

Toby was shaving when the buzzer went. He went to the door still half-covered in foam; he didn't think it was going to be someone who would mind.

"Oh, good, you're getting ready," she said, and didn't wait to be asked in. "Tell me how ravishing I look."

"Andi," he began, eyes on the ground.

"Toby?"

It was how she said it, partly, but mostly it was because when she spoke he had to look at her properly, and she was standing there in a red dress cut up to _here_ and down to _here_ and he'd asked her to marry him, once. "You look beautiful," he said, meaning it, and went to finish shaving but left the bathroom door open.

Over the sound of the rushing water, she said, "I just got elected to the United States Congress" – like he didn't know, like she was telling herself.

He stuck his head out of the door. "I just got President Bartlett elected to the White House."

She grinned. "Yeah."

He washed his face, found the tux, dressed quickly, neatly. She was waiting for him quietly by the door.

"You hate balls," she reminded him, as they gathered their coats. "You hate dancing and getting dressed up, and you _really_ hate canapés."

"I do," he said. "Don't know if I hate inauguration balls, though. I've never been to one."

"Good point," she said. "Dance with me tonight?"

"Only if you let me lead."

"Yeah, okay," she said, and locked up behind them.

 


End file.
